School Guidance
by Charlie Yubari
Summary: Follows from Childlike Innocence. Nny and Teatime are called into the Guidance Councellor's office because of some, ah, 'antisocial' behaviour.


Mr Brown was a tall, solid, dependable man. He'd been solid and dependable for as long as anyone could remember, and had worked as school counsellor at Stubbin Tabe's Elementary for even longer. He'd dealt with bullies and misfits and bed-wetters and more. It was difficult to surprise him. He couldn't remember the last time a child's problems had seemed particularly out of the ordinary.

After so many years of complacency, the arrival of two extremely unusual pupils caught him completely off-guard.

Before the boys were lead into his office, Mr Brown went through their files. Both were relatively new arrivals at Stubbin Tabe's Elementary; Johnny's family had recently moved to the city from out of state, and Jonathan - well. Stubbin Tabe's was the fourth school young Mr Teatime had attended in the two years since the de Munforte School and Orphanage had decided he was "too disruptive" for their classes. Both boys had rather extensive files from their former schools, with many points in common: erratic and unpredictable behaviour, violent outbursts, bringing weapons to school... Mr Brown supposed that their friendship should have been anticipated. He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

A knock on the office door interrupted his reading. "Mr Brown? Two visitors for you." The familiar voice of Mrs McSorley, the school's secretary, sounded cross.

_Well, let's see what the damage is._ "Come in, boys."

For all their similarities, the two boys couldn't look more different. Jonathan was dressed neatly - or had been; the signs of a recent scuffle were plain - in the black suit that the brothers of de Munforte insisted their charges wore. He was small and slim, with a round smiling face and curly blonde hair; he looked like a cherub. It really was a shame, Mr Brown thought, that the poor boy had to lose his eye in such a horrible way...

Johnny, on the other hand, was bony and awkward looking. The shockingly blue hair, scruffy clothes and almost-perpetual scowl marked him out (to Mr Brown's mind) as a troublemaker. Not only that; he radiated discomfort just as much as Jonathan seemed unnervingly at ease. While Johnny skulked into the office with hunched shoulders and hands shoved deeply in his pockets, Jonathan practically bounded towards the desk.

"Hello, sir! I do hope we haven't caused you too much trouble."

Mr Brown gave both boys his practiced 'stern-but-approachable' look. "You've not caused i me /i trouble, Jonathan. But it's very important that I talk to you both. Please, take a seat."

"Please, sir, I _would_ prefer it if you called me Teatime. It's pronounced Teh-ah-tim-eh," Jonathan enunciated carefully. Mr Brown noticed the boy glanced quickly at Johnny as he said this.

"Very well." With another smile - rather spoiled by the swelling of what would soon be a spectacular bruise - Jonathan bounced into a seat. Johnny followed his lead, pulling his bony legs to his chest. _Who is the leader here?_ Mr Brown thought.

"Usually, boys, your first stop would be to the principal's office after a fight like that. Do you know why that hasn't happened this time?" Jonathan looked as if he were about to answer, but Mr Brown ploughed ahead. "It's because you haven't paid attention to any of your other teachers on the numerous occasions they've spoken to you. So we're going to try something different. _You're _going to talk to _me_. How does that sound?"

He noticed that Johnny was smirking. _How rude._

"We'll start with this afternoon's incident. Could you explain to me why you saw fit to start a fight with Greg and Desmond in the cafeteria?"

"They were making fun of Teatime!" Johnny spat.

"It's true, sir. They were calling me names. They said I was _crazy_."

"And you felt that slamming a tray into Desmond's head was an adequate response?"

Teatime sighed. "If they didn't want us to retaliate, they shouldn't have said anything in the first place." His mismatched features were arranged in a vaguely sorrowful expression. It was a face, Mr Brown felt suddenly, that had been studied and practiced without really being understood; the expression of someone who'd never felt the emotion they were trying to put across.

He blinked. _Don't be so silly. He's only ten years old, for goodness' sake._

Johnny seemed to be warming to this subject. "People are so stupid! They think they can just - just say things, make other people's lives miserable, and the minute anyone does anything back to them they make a huge fuss about it! How come they're not getting talked-to? They started it! God, I hope they get their ears bitten off by _rabid dogs_!"

"I wouldn't say they make my life miserable," said Teatime, looking thoughtful, "but I agree about the dogs."

_Oookay._ "Well, Johnny, the reason Desmond and Greg aren't being spoken to right now is because they are in hospital. How do you feel about that?" The boy shrugged, but it was clear that he was fighting a smile. "And you, Jonatha - er, Teatime?"

A slight twitch - probably at the perceived mis-pronunciation, but Brother Downey had assured him that this was merely an affectation - before replying. "I suppose that while they're in hospital, they won't be able to make fun of either of us. So it must be a good thing." He smiled brilliantly.

Mr Brown put his head in his hands. This wasn't going the way he had planned - the way he had experienced, time after time. They were supposed to look ashamed; they were supposed to blush, and cringe, or hide their feelings with bravado until they broke down, and a reconciliation meeting could be arranged. "You hurt two other people, badly enough that they needed medical attention. Doesn't that make you feel bad?"

"Why would it?" Puzzled.

"They started it!" Indignant.

"They might have _started _it, Johnny, but neither of them had hammers in their schoolbags." This was going nowhere. He tried a different track. "Jona - Teatime, you've been expelled from three schools in the past for behaviour like this. Surely a boy of your capabilities doesn't want something like that on his permanent record? You've already missed the chance of studying at the best school in the city."

"Yes, but the brothers give me individual lessons. If I decide to go to university, I'm sure they'll give me a recommendation."

"_If _...?" Mr Brown echoed faintly.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to close myself off to other possibilities, sir."

"You realise, Mr Teatime, that if it weren't for your trouble with social interaction - for example," Mr Brown picked up Jonathan's file, "'almost severing a classmate's finger with a cafeteria knife' - you would easily be placed in high school classes for almost every subject. Studying at this level must be frustrating for you."

Jonathan seemed to consider this for a moment. Then, with a smile, he said, "I wouldn't want to go to high school. I have my friend here." He beamed at Johnny, who blushed.

Mr Brown was becoming exasperated. "And you, Johnny? Don't you want to go to university?"

"Not really. I'm going to be a famous artist. Then I won't have to put up with anybody but myself."

"And me!" For a moment, the younger boy's ever-present smile faded, replaced with a rather put-out look.

A shy, cautious smile. "Well, yeah. But you're different."

"Boys - is it really so difficult to grasp that Desmond and Greg -" _and the rest of humanity, for that matter_ "- have got feelings and emotions just as valid as yours?" Two faces - one dark and sullen, the other bright and cheerful - looked at him with identical blank expressions. This really was hopeless.

He sighed. "Just - go to the principal's office. Tell her I sent you."

"Alright, sir. Thank you for your time." With a polite smile, Jonathan jumped from his seat and bounded out of the room. Johnny followed, arms folded across his chest. Mr Brown took a large gulp of water, wishing - for the first time in almost fifteen years - that he had something a little stronger.

_Good God, we're in trouble._


End file.
